Chapter 21: President Mo Invites You Into the Car, Part 2 (Dedicated to Natural Diamonds)

The lily of the valley drooped its head, uncertain how to respond.

The old tailor measured Mo Zhicheng’s shoulders, arms, and waist with practiced patience. He chuckled, “Mr. Mo, after all these years, your figure is still so well maintained. The measurements have hardly changed.”

Mo Zhicheng smiled faintly. “Not at all, Master Chen. It’s thanks to your skill.” His words were laced with courtesy.

“Mr. Mo, please wait a moment.” The tailor slowly recorded the data and removed his black reading glasses. “Take a look at the fabrics, and I’ll bring you the suit we made last time.”

“All right,” Mo Zhicheng replied.

When the tailor left again, Mo Zhicheng turned, his gaze passing over Ye Linglan.

—Think carefully about how you should answer me.

Linglan unconsciously stepped back. “Mr. Mo,” she glanced at the nearby fabrics, eager to deflect, to muddle the conversation. “Let me help you pick out some materials.” She hurried forward, speaking quickly, “I’ve noticed you prefer cool tones, mostly black and white. It’s a timeless combination: simple, understated. But perhaps you could try iron gray—less somber than black, yet equally luxurious.” She spoke in a rush, feeling Mo Zhicheng drawing closer with every step. “If you don’t care for that, what about this one with subtle crimson stripes? And here’s a tie—look at this diagonal pattern—” She turned, only to have the man seize her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His grip was firm, unyielding as iron, holding her fast. He leaned in, his voice low and nearly hoarse, “Don’t try distracting me with tricks.”

She trembled slightly, hearing him continue, “You had the nerve to say it—why not the nerve to admit it, hmm?”

Linglan’s breath quickened, eyes fixed on the man looming above. Mo Zhicheng took a white silk handkerchief from her palm, gently wiping the beads of moisture from her brow. “Lost your voice again?” he asked, his deep eyes scrutinizing her, pupils like pools of melted water, shimmering under the harsh lights. He could feel her breath quiver along with her body.

Mo Zhicheng eased his grip, the silk handkerchief gliding over her damp hair, the corner of her eyes, her cheeks, and the faintly flushed lips. He wiped her face clean, gaze still locked on hers. “Afraid to speak now?”

“It’s because so many girls admire you, Mr. Mo, that they’re filled with fantasies. All these are just little dreams we girls have—Linglan was only joking. I didn’t expect rumors to twist things, leading to a misunderstanding.” Linglan met his gaze